


I Know You

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was born from a birthday present request on tumblr. The original prompt was THIS: "OK so Cat has a riding accident and hits her head really hard. When she wakes up, she doesn’t remember Ned and the life they built together. She thinks she’s still betrothed to Brandon and doesn’t know about the Rebellion. Ned is devastated and tries to make her fall in love with him all over again. How he handles the Jon situation this time is up to you. Basically this is the movie The Vow.“</p>
<p>Now, I have never seen the movie "The Vow" and I know nothing about it so this story likely resembles it not at all. But here it is:</p>
<p>A few months after the Greyjoy Rebellion ends, Ned and Catelyn are the happiest they have ever been, with three children together and having finally both admitted their love for each other. When a riding accident robs Catelyn of all memories after the last time she saw Brandon Stark, they both have to figure out how the move forward from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He had seen it play out in his head so many times now—the horse stopping suddenly at the low wall, a wall it had jumped at least a dozen times that very day. A thousand times a day or even an hour, he saw her bright hair catching the sunlight as she flew from the horse, over its head, over the wall. Almost continuously, over whatever sounds came from the corridor outside her too still room, he heard the sickening crack of her skull against that wall as she fell. The sound repeated with nearly every breath he took. Even now, as he sat at her bedside, her still hand held in his, he could feel on his fingers the warm wetness of her blood which had poured over his hands as he cradled her head there on the ground.

Maester Luwin had declared it a miracle she had not snapped her neck which would have certainly killed her.

_A miracle,_ Ned Stark thought bitterly. _Where is the miracle when Catelyn will not wake?_

Three days, she had remained as she was now. Silent, still, eyes closed. Maester Luwin’s clever hands had sewn the skin of her scalp back together with needle and thread. He’d said that while her skull had certainly been cracked, the broken pieces did not press down upon the soft tissue below and that it should heal. After the first two days had passed, the man declared it unlikely that Catelyn would die of her injury.

But for all his knowledge and skill, the man could not wake her. Ned had berated him, raged at him, and even begged him, but the master had only looked at him with sad eyes and said that only time would tell.

_Time._ Time had been been good to the two of them in the past. They had wed for duty, and then for duty’s sake had given each other their bodies, their respect, and their time. And time had brought them Robb, and Sansa, and little Arya. Even more surprisingly, it had brought them each other. While Ned had realized well before Sansa’s birth that his feelings for his Tully wife went far deeper than dutiful respect, it had only been since his return from the Greyjoy Rebellion and Arya’s arrival, that Catelyn had shown him she not only wanted his love, but inexplicably, miraculously, loved him in return.

_I cannot lose her. Surely, the gods are not so cruel._ He ignored the whisper at the back of his mind reminding him she was never meant to be his to keep or to lose. He ignored it, but he couldn’t completely silence it any more than he could silence the sound of her head hitting the stone wall. _Please, gods,_ he prayed. _Do not take her from our children. Do not take her from me._

He’d closed his eyes as he prayed, and did not see her open hers. He did hear the soft sound of surprise that came from her lips, and he opened his eyes to see those blue eyes he loved so much looking up at his in confusion, a small frown on her face, and her forehead wrinkled with pain or worry or perhaps both. 

“Cat! You are awake. Thank the gods!” he exclaimed, gripping her hand more tightly as he felt his heart begin to beat again. He honestly felt as if it had been stopped since the moment of her fall. 

She made a wordless sound and grimaced a bit, raising her free hand to the back of her head, and then flinching in pain and squeezing her eyes shut as her fingers brushed her hair near her wound. 

“Careful, Cat. You took a nasty tumble, my love. I had feared you might be lost to me.” 

She opened her eyes again and looked at him incomprehendingly. She blinked once and then said hoarsely, tentatively, “Brandon?” 

_Brandon?_ Instantly Ned’s relief was colored by alarm. Why did she speak his brother’s name? 

She licked her lips. Gods knew they must be dry. Then hesitantly, she spoke again. “Wh . .when did you grow a beard? And why? You don’t look like yourself.” 

Unable to respond to these nonsensical statements, Ned simply held tightly to her hand and called loudly, “Maester Luwin! Come quickly! Lady Stark is awake!” 

She jerked her hand from his at his shout and put both her hands to her ears, shutting her eyes against the pain once more. 

“Forgive me, my love,” Ned said, leaning forward to put his own hand gently to her cheek. “I didn’t mean to startle you or cause you pain, but I cannot bear to leave you even to fetch the maester.” 

She opened her eyes to stare at him once more. “You’re …you’re not Brandon. You’re like him …but …who are you?” She sounded terrified. Her eyes left his and darted about her chambers almost wildly. “Where am I? What has happened to me?” The questions became progressively more panicked, and Ned believed the last would have been shouted had she the strength. 

“Catelyn, you are safe, my love. You are at home in Winterfell. In your bed, my lady. You are safe.” He spoke the words as soothingly as he could, but they appeared to agitate her even more. She began shaking her head back and forth even as she grimaced at the pain it caused her. “Cat, stop doing that, please. You will hurt yourself.” 

“Who are you?” she demanded, and he saw that her eyes were moist. Likely tears would be falling down her cheeks if she had not been unable to drink anything for nearly three days. 

Stunned by his wife’s incomprehensible terror, Ned simply answered the question. “I’m Ned, my love. I’m your husband.” 

At that, Catelyn screamed. It wasn’t very loud as her dry, papery voice lacked power, but it was most definitely a scream. 

Ned wanted to hold her, to comfort her and keep her safe, but it had become painfully obvious that his wife was afraid of him for some reason. He backed slowly away from the bed, murmuring idiotic words like “You’re safe” until he collided with Maester Luwin who had run in to the room. 

“Lady Catelyn! You have awakened!” the maester exclaimed, although he did not sound as joyous as he should at such a proclamation. No doubt, he had heard her scream, and the expression of terror on her face clearly indicated all was not well. 

“How do you know my name?” she hissed at him. She looked at the chain upon his neck. “Where is Maester Vyman? Where is my father? What has happened to me?” 

Ned started to speak, but Luwin put a hand on his arm. “Lord Hoster is at Riverrun, my lady,” he said very calmly. “Vyman is the name of your maester there, is it not? I am Luwin, maester in service to the Starks of Winterfell.” 

Ned stared at the maester, wondering why on earth he was introducing himself to Catelyn as if they’d never met, but when his eyes moved back to his wife, it seemed Luwin’s approach had settled her just a bit. 

“The Starks,” repeated dully. “Winterfell.” She looked up at Ned. “You look like a Stark, sort of like Brandon.” 

“Cat, I …” 

Maester Luwin squeezed his arm, and Ned fell silent. 

“This is Eddard Stark, my lady. Brandon Stark’s younger brother.” 

“Oh!” Catelyn said, in sudden recognition. “The one he calls Ned.” She bit her lip as Ned had seen her do a thousand times when thinking hard about something. “I …I fell, didn’t I? My head …” 

“Yes!” Ned exhaled in relief. “You fell from your horse when it refused the jump, and for three days you’ve lain here sleeping. I feared that …” 

“Three days?” she interrupted. “Gods be good, my father must be beside himself with fear! And Lysa and little Edmure! Why have you not called for my family? Tell them I’m awake, good maester.” 

Ned stared at her, trying to make sense of her ramblings. 

“First you must drink, my lady,” Maester Luwin said decisively, moving past Ned to the pitcher on the table and pouring honeyed water into a cup. He then gently raised Catelyn’s head and put the cup to her lips. 

“I am thirsty,” she said after taking several sips. “Very thirsty.” She sounded lost and confused. “And my head hurts terribly.” 

“I am afraid it will for some time, my lady,” Luwin said sympathetically. 

She looked at Winterfell’s maester, and Ned watched her brow wrinkle in worried confusion once more. “Where is Maester Vyman?” She looked up at Ned and then back at Luwin. “You say you have come from Winterfell. Did Brandon send you?” She chewed her lip. “But he couldn’t know of my fall, and you could hardly travel all that way in three days.” Confusion and fear showed equally in the blue eyes that she now turned upon Ned. “Or have you come early for the wedding? I …but it isn’t to take place for some …I can’t remember.” Sheer terror now overtook her features once more and her eyes shot back to Maester Luwin’s. “Why can’t I remember? I don’t know when my wedding is! I can’t remember when Brandon was even here last! Did …did he and Petyr fight a duel? Oh gods! They did, didn’t they? I remember now! Brandon had to leave, but he said he would return soon. He promised we would be married soon.” 

Ned listened to her words with growing horror. 

“Yes,” Luwin said in an infuriatingly calm voice. “All of those things happened, my lady. Now drink some more of your water, and I’ll see what I can do about the pain in your head.” As Catelyn obediently put her own hands to the mug and tipped it into her mouth, the maester turned toward Ned. “Lord Eddard, why don’t you go and inform the household that Lady Catelyn has awakened." 

“I am not leaving my w …” 

“Please,” Maester Luwin interrupted. The maester never interrupted him. Not ever. The urgent plea he could see in Luwin’s eyes frightened Ned as much as Catelyn’s nonsensical speech. 

He nodded. “I shall not stay away long.” 

“Please Lord Eddard,” Catelyn said, and Ned looked back to see her grimacing in pain as she held her head up, dutifully continuing to sip the water. “I fear I wish no visitors now. Except my family. Please tell my father to come.” 

Her words struck him through the heart, and he could do no more than nod. When he looked briefly at Luwin again, the man mouthed the words “Lord’s solar” and so that was where Ned went. 

He wasn’t certain how long he’d sat there, staring at his desk without seeing a thing upon it when a small voice penetrated his dark thoughts. 

“Father?” 

He looked up to see Robb standing in the doorway of the solar, his auburn curls and Tully blue eyes proclaiming his maternal lineage for the world to see. Ned’s heart dropped to think that Robb’s mother had spoken of events from years past as if they had only just occurred and had not asked after Robb and his sisters at all. That was more unlike Catelyn than anything Ned could imagine. 

He mustered a smile for his son and beckoned him in. 

“I heard one of the chamber maids tell a kitchen maid that Mother was awake,” the boy said as he ran to Ned. “Is it true? Can I see her now?” 

Ned swallowed hard and pulled Robb into his lap. “She did wake, Robb,” he said softly, willing his voice to remain steady. “And that is a very good thing. But she is still very weak and Maester Luwin gave her medicine to make her sleep again.” The lie came uneasily to his lips, but he had to tell the boy something, and he didn’t know what the truth was himself at the moment. 

“But she’s been asleep forever!” Robb protested, his voice on the edge of a whine. “I want her awake! I need to tell her so many things, Father! And Jon and I found new yellow flowers growing on the far side of the First Keep. I picked her some.” The boy frowned. “Only no one would let me give them to her and they got dead. But I can pick more! There was lots and lots! All yellow. Mother likes yellow.” 

“She does,” Ned said softly. Catelyn loved all bright colors. The North had only just begun to bloom as spring slowly gave way to summer. He’d taken great pleasure in sharing the longer days and new profusion of life with his wife. Her delighted smiles at everything he showed her warmed him far better than the northern sun. He now had to speak around the lump which had formed in his throat. “And she is very fond of flowers. She will wake again soon, and I shall see to it that she gets some of the yellow blossoms if you will pick her more tomorrow.” 

“I will,” Robb said firmly. “I promise on my honor.” 

In spite of his fear and worry for his wife, Ned had to smile at his son’s words. Since his fifth name day feast, when a rather small tournament of sorts had been held, Robb had talked non-stop about great knights, and the boy was determined that his own honor and courage would outshine all others. 

“Your promise is accepted, Lord Robb,” Ned said solemnly. 

“So, can I go watch Mother sleep at least?” Robb asked. “I can kiss her very gently on the side of her face like you let me do before I went to bed last night.” 

Ned sighed. “Not now, Robb. Maester Luwin is with her, and we should let the man …” 

“Lord Stark?” 

Ned looked up to see the maester in question now standing in the doorway of his solar with a solemn expression on his face. Before he could reply, Robb bounced up and off his lap. “Maester Luwin! Are you finished with Mother? Can I go kiss her and tell her to wake up again soon? Father said she had to go back to sleep and I promise I will be very gentle, but I want to tell her to wake up again soon so she can see the yellow flowers I’m going to bring her!” 

Robb was actually tugging at the maester’s robes, a habit they’d successfully broken him of months ago. Catelyn’s injury had been hard on the boy. Luwin’s face as he looked down at Robb was visibly pained, and that frightened Ned. 

“Not today, Young Robb. Your mother is sleeping soundly once more and will not wake again this day. She needs her rest. Now, I need to speak with your lord father. Why don’t you see if you can find Jon? I believe he was pestering Hullen in the stables just a bit ago.” 

Robb looked to Ned for permission. 

“Go on, Robb,” he said softly. As soon as the boy had stepped out, Maester Luwin shut the door firmly. “Tell me of my wife,” Ned demanded. “What ails her, Luwin?” 

He had stood up to speak and the maester sighed. “Please sit down, my lord. This is not an easy thing to tell or hear.” 

“Tell me, damn you. Has she lost her wits? What is wrong with her, man, and what will you do for it?” Ned’s fear put icy anger into his words. 

“Her wits are as sharp as they always were,” Luwin said softly. “Although I fear she believes she taken leave of them. She is very confused and frightened.” 

“I’ll say she is. What was all that talk of Brandon and Riverrun? Even Littlefinger, for gods’ sake!” 

“Please sit down, my lord.” 

The man stood there, looking at him with sympathetic eyes that Ned did not want to see, but he stayed silent and sat back into his chair. Maester Luwin sat down across from him. 

“Lady Catelyn’s mind works as well as it ever has in all ways save one,” Maester Luwin said softly. “I did not wish to tire her overmuch, but she was as anxious for answers as you are, so I did question her some amount. Her knowledge of mathematics, history, even languages is completely unimpaired.” He smiled just a bit. “She still recalls the High Valyrian she learned in her youth much better than you recall yours.” 

Ned wasn’t interested in High Valyrian. “What is wrong with her, Maester Luwin?” he asked softly. 

“She can reason. She’s actually attempting to come to terms with her …situation … better than I had hoped. She can follow a conversation, and she can recall words spoken to her since she awoke in her bed.” 

“That is good. But she said she couldn’t remember. She meant the fall, then. She doesn’t remember the fall or even going riding this morning, does she? I have seen such things in men wounded in battle.” It would cause her to be confused, Ned thought, waking in her bed with no memory of the events which had put her there. That must be it. 

“No, my lord. She has no memory of her injury.” Luwin paused. “In fact, she has no memory of a great many things.” 

Ned felt cold. “What do you mean?” 

Luwin sighed. “Lady Catelyn believed she was at Riverrun, my lord. She has no memory of coming to Winterfell at all.” 

“No memory of Winterfell?” Ned asked incredulously. 

“I had to help her to the window and allow her to look outside, my lord, before she would believe me. I fear it caused her quite a shock when she saw that she was indeed not at Riverrun.” 

“But she recognized Winterfell then, didn’t she? My gods, man, she’s lived here five years!” 

Luwin regarded him sadly. “I had hoped she would see something familiar—something to spark a memory, but she did not. She was very quiet when I put her back into her bed.” 

“Gods be good,” Ned whispered. “Our children …” 

“She does not recall them, my lord.” 

The horror of that statement was almost more than Ned could stand. “She will,” he said confidently. “As soon as she sees our children, she will know them.” 

Luwin swallowed. “She did not know you, my lord,” he said softly. “Not even when she looked upon you.” 

“You mean …she has no memory of me at all? She does not recall that we are wed?” 

“She believed herself at Riverrun, Lord Stark, betrothed to Brandon Stark. She is not entirely clear even in her memories of Riverrun as time draws near to Robert’s Rebellion. She did not recall Lady Lyanna’s kidnapping, for instance. I cannot say at precisely what point her memory goes completely blank, but it is before she ever met you, my lord.” 

Ned was silent a long moment as he tried to comprehend the incomprehensible. Catelyn knew nothing of him or their children or their life together in Winterfell. Such a thing seemed impossible. Surely, she would remember everything soon. “When will her memory return?” he asked. 

Now, Luwin went silent. “I do not know, my lord,” he finally said. “Such cases are …not common. Reports of recovery in what cases have been written about vary greatly.” 

“But she will remember. However long it takes, she will remember, will she not?” There could be no other possibility. Nothing else was acceptable. 

“I do not know, my lord.” 

The man’s quiet words hit Ned like a blow from mace or a war hammer. He couldn’t breathe, much less speak. 

“I told her you are her husband, my lord,” Luwin said after a moment. “She surmised that she must be wed if she were at Winterfell. And she kept asking for …” 

“For my brother,” Ned said quietly, feeling sick with the old doubt and envy even as his guilt at such feelings shamed him. 

“Yes, my lord, and I could not in good conscience let her remain ignorant of everything that has transpired, whether she remembers or not. I have hope that learning of some few things might help spark memory of others.” 

“What did you tell her, Maester Luwin?” 

“I told her briefly of the events which led to the Rebellion—no great detail, of course. I told her that Lord Rickard and Brandon had been killed by Aerys, and that you wed her in your brother’s place at the beginning of the war.” 

“Our children?” 

Maester Luwin shook his head. “I spoke of them not at all. She was not prepared to hear more, Lord Stark. She was quite shaken. She promised she would drink all the honeyed water in her pitcher if I would simply leave her to …grieve.” 

“Aye,” Ned said. “She must grieve my brother all over again. My poor Cat.” He swallowed. “You did tell her that her family all still lives, did you not?” 

Maester Luwin nodded. “I promised I would help her look for any letters her father or sister have written her.” 

“You needn’t,” Ned said. “I know where she keeps them. I will give them to her.” 

Luwin nodded. “She does want to speak with you, my lord,” he said as he rose to go. “She only asked that you give her a bit of time.” 

Ned nodded wearily. _Time,_ he thought once more. Time had brought them to each other before. Would it heal Catelyn’s mind and bring her back to him again? 

He waited until time for the evening meal to return to her chambers, spending the afternoon with his children. Robb and Jon regaled him with tales of their adventures in the godswood although they were in some disagreement about who had gotten the most stones to skip all the way across one of the larger pools. Talk of skipping stones had made Ned’s breath catch, as it had been Catelyn who taught Robb the trick, telling him how her Uncle Brynden had taught her and she had taught her brother Edmure in the great rivers near their home. Sansa had sung to him, repeating a mix of real words and made-up sounds to familiar tunes. She had a remarkable ear for melody to be only two years old, and Ned thought she would one day sing as sweetly as her mother. She already looked so very like her, and it broke Ned’s heart that Catelyn knew nothing of her existence. Arya was fretful. She had been since Catelyn’s injury. Ned could soothe her somewhat, but unfortunately he could not feed her. At four moons of age, Arya knew her mother and was not pleased at being offered the teat by anyone else. She would take the nursemaid’s milk when she was ravenous, but she let everyone know how unsatisfactory she found the arrangement. 

He left the children in the care of the staff for the meal and ordered food sent to Catelyn’s room for the two of them. Maester Luwin had been back to check on her, and she had apparently slept again, although he informed Ned she was awake now. Hesitantly, he knocked on his lady’s door. 

“Come in, please.” Her voice sounded stronger, more like her own, but more formal and distant than it had in some years. 

“My lady,” he said, when he entered. She was sitting in a chair which had been pulled over by the largest window so she could look outside. She looked up at him now. Her eyes were red. She had obviously been crying, and he supposed he should be grateful her body now at least contained enough fluid to make tears. He couldn’t imagine how she felt. He couldn’t even understand what he felt, but he wanted to help her. “Maester Luwin said you wished to see me. I have ordered food for us here.” 

She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before, and Ned realized that to her mind, other than their brief meeting when she’d awakened, she hadn’t. 

“Is your head any better, my lady?” he asked courteously. 

“No,” she said honestly. “It feels as if there are a thousand little men within it, beating upon my skull from the inside.” She bit her lip. “I keep wondering if their hammering is what keeps me from …remembering.” 

“Mayhap it is,” he said. “And when the hammering stops, your memory will return to you.” 

“Mayhap.” She sounded doubtful as she turned to look out the window again. “Nothing is familiar, my lord. Nothing.” She turned her eyes upon him. “I do not know you, Lord Eddard. I look at you and I see a man with Brandon’s eyes in a solemn bearded face. And yet …your Maester Luwin assures me you are my lord husband.” 

With or without her memory, she was his brave Catelyn. He was a stranger to her and yet she met his eyes, and her voice did not waver as she spoke the words ‘lord husband.’ No one save himself would see how frightened she truly was. 

“I am,” he said softly. “And that is my great honor, my lady, I assure you.” 

Her cheeks colored very slightly. “Thank you.” Her cheeks flushed more deeply then as she said, “Maester Luwin spoke nothing of it, but …do I have a babe, my lord?” 

“We …do you remember, Cat?” He tried to keep the desperation and eagerness out of his voice. She could hear it when no one else could, he knew, but then again with no memory of him, her remarkable ability to read his every mood had likely vanished. “Do you remember our …” 

“No!” she almost sobbed, interrupting. “I remember nothing! I can scarce believe I am a wife—wedded and bedded, but …” She blushed deeply and did look down then. “I felt a strange fullness in my …and the front of my dress was damp. I …have seen nursing mothers, my lord.” 

“Aye,” Ned said softly. “Our babe is but four moons, my lady. I fear she is a demanding little thing. You sometimes spend half your day feeding her.” 

She looked up at him then, curiosity on her face. “A girl child? I have a daughter?” 

He smiled at her. He wanted to touch her so badly, but he didn’t think it would be welcome. “Arya,” he said. “Our little babe is Arya, and she has missed you these past days. She doesn’t like anyone else to feed her.” 

“Oh,” Catelyn replied as if not quite certain how that made her feel. 

“I fear you are to blame for that, my lady,” he said, “for you do not allow her to be fed by anyone else unless it is absolutely necessary.” He felt that lump in his throat again. “You are a fine mother, Catelyn. The very best any child has ever had,” he whispered hoarsely around that lump. 

“I …thank you, my lord.” 

“Ned,” he whispered. “You call me Ned whenever we are alone” _Or ‘my love.’_ He was not about to suggest she call him that, though. Not while her eyes remained red from tears shed for Brandon. 

“I …will try to remember, my lord …Ned.” 

“You may call me whatever you please, my lady. I only wished to tell you that you needn’t use my title unless you wish it. I am your husband, and you have more right to use my name than anyone.” 

She smiled just a little. “Yet you persist in calling me ‘my lady,’” she countered. 

He returned her smile. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. You have been ‘Cat’ to me for some time now, but I thought it might sound strange to your ears to hear your family’s name for you from the lips of a …stranger.” He hated referring to himself as such, but there it was. 

“You are not truly a stranger, though,” she said, as if she could still read his mind after all. 

Before she could say anything further, a knock at the door announced the arrival of a kitchen girl with their food. “You may put it on the table,” Catelyn said without hesitating. “I will serve Lord Stark and myself when we are ready to eat.” 

The girl smiled widely and curtsied. “It is good to see you back to yourself, milady. We all prayed for you.” 

A distraught expression flashed across Catelyn’s face so briefly that anyone not looking at her closely would have missed it. “Thank you,” she told the maid. 

When the girl had gone, Ned rose from where he had sat down across from her and went to fix their plates. 

“You needn’t serve me, my lord,” she said. 

“I heard what you told Rina,” he said with a small smile. “I also know when you are putting on your best lady of the manor, Cat. I doubt you are strong enough to rise from that chair unassisted, let alone serve anyone a meal.” 

He realized he had called her by her name, but if it bothered her, she did not show it. “Rina,” she repeated. “The girl thought I knew her, didn’t she? She thought I was the Lady Stark she remembers.” 

“You are the Lady Stark she remembers,” Ned said softly, pulling the table carefully over beside her chair, taking care not to spill anything on it. “You are the only one who does not recognize yourself.” 

She looked at him. “This must be terrible for you.” 

“It is more terrible for you, my lady. I am sorry for your loss.” 

“Mayhap you are correct and my lost memory will return when the headache leaves.” 

He had been speaking of Brandon rather than her memory, but he did not correct her. They ate silently for a moment, and he was pleased to see that her appetite, at least, seemed healthy. No doubt she was starving after three days. 

“Tell me of Arya,” she said after several moments of nothing save chewing and swallowing from either of them. “It is a Northern name? I have never heard it.” 

He kept his face carefully blank lest she see how much that last statement hurt him. “Aye,” he said. “It’s a Stark name. You called her after my grandmother.” 

“I called her? You did not name her, my lord?” 

He shook his head. “She was born just before I returned from war. I had hoped to be home in time, but …” 

“Oh, yes,” Catelyn said, nodding slowly. “Maester Luwin told me …about the war …about Brandon, and your father.” Tears threatened her eyes again, and Ned looked down at his plate to allow her to compose herself. “We …wed …at the start of the war, he said. So Arya was …conceived before you left me to fight, then?” 

“No,” Ned said. “I mean, all that you said is true, but Arya was not born during that war. She was born just after the Greyjoy Rebellion ended. I was on my way home from the Iron Islands. Our son Robb was conceived just after our wedding and born at Riverrun. You and he stayed there until I came home from that war—Robert’s Rebellion, that one was called.” 

He stopped talking then, for her face had gone very pale. “Our …son,” she said weakly. “I . . I have borne two babes?” 

She looked so lost and confused that his heart broke for her. He reached out to touch her hand, but stopped just short of it. He was a stranger speaking of getting babes on her. How could his touch be a comfort to her? “Three,” he said softly. “We have another daughter as well. Sansa. She looks just like you, my lady.” 

A sob escaped her then, and she put her face into her hands. “How can I have three children I do not know? What kind of mother forgets her children?” She shook her head slowly back and forth. “I keep thinking this must be a bad dream. I will wake any moment in my bed at Riverrun.” She’d kept her face down as she spoke, but now she looked up at him again. “It isn’t a dream, though, is it?” 

“No, Cat,” he said softly. “It isn’t.” 

She bit her lip before speaking again. “Maester Luwin did not say how long we have been …how long I have been Lady Stark. But …three children.” She bit her lip again, and Ned answered the question she could not quite bring herself to ask. 

“We have been wed for six years years now, my lady. Our son Robb is five. Sansa is two, and Arya is just over four moons.” 

She let that sink in for a good long moment. “Ned?” she asked then, sounding hesitant, but using his name spontaneously for the first time since waking. “How old am I?” She sounded scarcely older than Robb as she asked the question, and Ned wondered how old she thought herself. What was the last nameday she could remember? 

“You are four and twenty, my lady,” he said and he could see the shock in her face. “You had your own nameday not long before Arya was born.” 

He stood then and walked to her little dressing table, opening the box where she kept most of her jewelry. Finding what he sought, he carried it to her. As he handed her the brooch, their fingers touched and she did not flinch. He was glad of that at least. “I gave you this,” he said simply. “On your last nameday.” 

She looked at it and Ned’s heart leapt to see a flash of recognition and joy in her eyes. “A Tully trout,” she said. “The first I’ve seen here.” She didn’t remember the brooch, he realized with disappointment. She only recognized the Tully sigil. 

“I had it made with both our sigils for you shall always be a Tully, my lady, even though you are certainly Lady Stark.” 

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “I would have never thought to put the direwolf and trout together like that. You hired a clever engraver, Lord Stark.” She turned the brooch in her hand, examining it closely. 

“You deserve beautiful things.” Her eyes abruptly flew up to his, and he saw surprise there at whatever she saw on his face. 

“Thank you.” 

The silence between them then was broken by the loud wails of an angry, hungry infant. 

Catelyn looked at him in shock and terror. “Is that?” 

“It is.” 

The knock on the door came a moment later, and as Catelyn sat silent as if in shock, Ned went to open the door. 

“I’m sorry, milord, but none of us can do a thing with her. And she won’t take the teat, and I know the poor babe’s hungry. I just …” 

“Bring her to me.” Catelyn’s voice rang out clearly from somewhere behind him, and he turned to see that she had stood up. She had one arm braced on the chair and didn’t look terribly steady, but she looked at the screaming, wriggling dark haired babe in the maid’s arms with an expression of determination. “Bring me my daughter,” she said when neither Ned nor the maid moved. 

Ned took his daughter from the maid’s arms and nodded for her to go. Arya settled just a bit in her father’s arms, but she did not quiet completely. “Sit down, Catelyn,” Ned said, sounding more commanding than he had intended. 

She looked at him almost defiantly. “She is mine, is she not? I would like to hold her.” 

“Of course, my lady. But you cannot feed her very well standing up.” 

“Oh,” Catelyn said quietly. “I suppose …” She dropped back into her seat. 

“You need only undo the top laces,” Ned said. “I can go if you’d prefer.” 

“No!” she said quickly, looking almost terrified. “You …you have seen me feed … our children before?” 

He smiled at her. “Many times, my lady.” 

She blushed crimson once more, but moved her fingers to undo her laces all the same. “Then stay.” 

When she had freed her breast from its confinement, he handed her their daughter, kneeling beside her to help support the babe as Catelyn was still weak and looked more uncoordinated at nursing than he had ever seen her. Fortunately, Arya knew what to do and latched on with great gusto. A tiny yelp of surprise escaped Catelyn, but she said nothing. She simply stared down at the nursing infant as if she couldn’t quite believe she was there. 

After a bit, she said softly, “She looks like you.” 

“Aye,” he said. “She is all Stark in looks. Sansa is all Tully. She is you in miniature.” 

“Arya,” Catelyn said even more softly, running a finger along the soft pink skin of the baby’s cheek. Her voice held tenderness and wonder. But no gleam of recognition or remembrance. 

The babe’s sucks slowed and her eyes drooped. “Give her to me,” Ned said. “She will wake with the belly ache if I don’t get her to belch.” 

Somewhat reluctantly, Catelyn relinquished her to him and quickly covered herself as he stood to walk the floor while patting the babe’s back. “Robb,” Catelyn said suddenly. “That is our son’s name?” 

Ned nodded and Arya emitted a belch that would have made a drunken soldier proud. Catelyn’s eyes got round. “Which of us is he like?” 

He smiled at her over Arya’s dark head. “When he is being particularly stubborn, you claim he is like me,” he told her. “I may disagree with that assessment. But, in any event, he has your coloring. His hair and eyes are all yours.” 

She frowned. “Does that disappoint you? That your heir doesn’t have your look?” 

The question surprised him. He’d often suspected that Catelyn worried about this, particulary when she looked at Jon. _Oh gods. I have to tell her about Jon all over again,_ he thought miserably. Yet she had never come right out and asked him. Maybe the absence of memory made her less reticent to ask things she feared might be painful for him or her. 

“No,” he said firmly. “Our son is beautiful. He is bright and active and clever and bold. Robb is perfect in my eyes, Catelyn, and I would have him be no different than is. In any way.” 

She nodded thoughtfully. “I’m tired,” she said then. “Suddenly, I’m very tired, my lord.” 

“I can take Arya back to the nursery. She will likely wake once in the night, but the wet nurse can …” 

“No,” Catelyn said as firmly as he had a moment ago. “Take her to the nursery, but leave instructions she is to be brought to me if she wakes.” 

He looked at her for a long moment. “As you wish, my lady.” 

“I …I don’t think I can see the other two. Not today. I am sorry, my lord. Tomorrow, when I am stronger, mayhap I can …” 

“Do not apologize, my lady. You have nothing to apologize for.” Moved by a sudden impulse, he laid the now sleeping Arya on her mother’s bed and went to kneel once more before Catelyn, taking her hands in his. She didn’t pull them away. “I thought you were going to die, Catelyn. I was there …when you flew off that horse …when your head hit …” He couldn’t even speak of it. He shook his head to clear those images and concentrated on the blue eyes that now regarded him with curiosity. “I thank the gods you are still alive and with me and our children in Winterfell, my lady. That you still draw breath is enough to gladden my heart now. Whatever else we must face …we will face.” 

Her expression seemed to soften just slightly and she nodded. They stayed that way with their hands joined for another moment, and then she said somewhat awkwardly. “Could you send someone to help me into bed, my lord? I do not think I can manage all the laces. Whatever little strength I had, I seem to have spent it.” 

His own fingers itched to undo her laces, undress her, and to carry her to her bed, gently tucking the furs around her and then lying down beside her to keep her safe in his arms all through the night. But she would not want that. She did not want him. She knew him even less now than when they’d come together at Riverrun. 

“I will send your maid right along,” he told her. He let go of her hands and turned to pick up Arya from the bed. “Good night, my lady,” he said, executing as good an approximation of a formal bow as he could make holding a sleeping infant. 

“Good night, my lord,” she said. As he turned to go, she spoke once more. “Ned …thank you.” 

He nodded once without turning around and forced himself to walk away from the woman he loved, dreading the night to come in his own cold bedchamber, and realizing that he didn’t have the strength to face quite _everything_ that might come. He could learn to accept that some memories they both held dear might be gone from her forever. That would be painful, but for her, he could face it. What he could not face, could not even think about, was the possibility Catelyn might never love him again. 


	2. Chapter 2

Catelyn awoke to the sound of boys’ laughter coming from somewhere.

_Edmure,_ she thought. _Playing with the stable boys, probably._ As she sat up in bed, however, her head seemed to explode with pain, and the memory of where she was, what had happened to her came flooding back.

_I am in Winterfell. Brandon is dead. I am wed to his brother and I have three children. I am four and twenty. How can I be four and twenty?_

A strangled sort of laugh escaped her then as she realized the absurdity of being more dismayed at having suddenly aged more than six years than at finding herself wed to a stranger and mother to three children she could not recall. But it didn’t seem real that she could be so old. And if she were still seventeen—or had she been eighteen? It was so hard to remember—she could not possibly be anyone’s wife or mother. She could not be here. None of this could be true. Mayhap that was why her mind fought to reject the age Lord Stark had given her. None of this could be true if that could be proved false.

_It is true, though,_ a tiny voice in her throbbing head reminded her. She had been dismayed to look upon her own belly the previous night when she’d undressed fully for the first time to wash before bed. It had taken all the self-control she possessed not to cry out at the various lines marking her flesh and the way the skin there seemed to hang too loosely. She had told the maid _(Rina. Her name is Rina)_ that her memory was a bit addled from her fall in order to explain why she needed assistance finding her own nightshift and other belongings, but she certainly did not reveal that she had no recollection of being Lady Stark whatsoever. She would not allow anyone except Lord Stark and that maester to know she didn’t even recall having children. She could not cry in front of the maid over her own unrecognizable flesh.

She had cried, though, once she was alone in a bed that she supposed was hers although she found it unfamiliar. She’d cried again for Brandon who was to have been her husband, but mostly she’d cried for herself—for the loss of everything she’d known and for the ugly marks on her white skin. She ran her fingers over them now and forced herself to acknowledge that yesterday had actually taken place. And all she’d been told yesterday was true. Her breasts felt oddly heavy and as if they’d been stretched painfully tight from within. She recalled that feeling from the previous day as well. 

_No one brought me the babe. Arya. My daughter._ “My daughter.” The words seemed odd to say, but in spite of her genuine terror at even being a stranger’s wife or anyone’s mother, she found herself feeling strangely warm as she recalled holding the dark haired baby girl in her arms and feeling her suckle. Four moons, Lord Stark had said. She’d thought babes of that age needed to suckle in the night, but she didn’t really know. She thought to call for a maid to bring the babe now. She rather hoped little Arya was hungry because she didn’t think she could stand her breasts feeling like this very long.

Slowly, she rose from her bed. Her head continued to pound, and it swam a bit as she stood upright, but she braced a hand against the wall to steady herself until the dizziness passed. “It’s warm!” she exclaimed suddenly as she felt warmth actually seeping from the stone of the wall into the palm she had pressed against it. Brandon had told her the walls of Winterfell were always warm, but she hadn’t believed him. Brandon had told her many things, but she knew perfectly well he didn’t always speak truly. She’d written off some of his more remarkable claims about Winterfell as wild tales intended to impress her or even frighten her a bit in the case of some of the darker tales. It appeared he’d spoken truly about this, however.

Her nightshift was of very thin material. She’d wondered about that when her maid had helped her into it, thinking that something thicker would be appropriate in the North. When she’d said something of the sort however, the maid had laughed, though. “Why Lady Stark, it’s nearly full on summer now, and in this room even you’d burn alive in anything thicker in summer—even without Lord Stark in the bed!”

She’d barely taken notice of the maid’s _(Rina’s)_ assessment of the climate of her chambers once those last words had passed the girl’s lips. She’d been shocked to hear them. Of course, her husband must have come to her bed over the years or she would not have those marks on her belly or the little girl Arya or the two children she’d not yet seen. But to speak of it so flippantly! She’d nearly rebuked the maid, but then she’d recalled how Lord Stark had not left her bedside through the days and nights after her injury. Maester Luwin had told her that. And the way he had looked at her when he’d knelt before her and spoken to her before taking his leave for the evening. _That you still draw breath is enough to gladden my heart now._ Those grey eyes of his, so like Brandon’s, had looked at her with an intensity that was almost painful. Brandon had looked at her with a similar intensity at times—when he’d kissed her breathless and wanted her to allow more. She’d thought mayhap she saw something like that in his brother’s gaze—but there had been something different . . . something more somehow . . . as well. Something she couldn’t quite name. But as she’d recalled it, she’d swallowed her rebuke to the maid. What if the man came here often? What if he even slept here at times? That was not unheard of with married couples. She couldn’t begin admonishing the household staff over matters they likely had more knowledge of than she did—even such personal matters as her own relations with her husband, as galling as that was. 

_I don’t know I am,_ she thought now desperately. _Or who I’m supposed to be._ The tears came again, but she bit her lip hard and stood on her own two feet, pulling her hand away from the warm wall. _I am a Tully of Riverrun. I can be strong._

A young boy’s shout followed by more laughter came again from the direction of the window. Seeking distraction, she walked slowly over to look outside. The maester had admonished her not to attempt to leave her bed when she was alone in the room lest she become dizzy and fall, but Catelyn was thoroughly tired of taking orders from strangers who behaved as if they knew her. She realized that they did know her, or knew whoever she was supposed to be, but they all felt like strangers to her, and she wanted to think for herself right now instead of waiting around in bed to be told what she should think or feel or do.

She was feeling rather lightheaded by the time she reached the windowsill and gripped the sill tightly, but she felt ridiculously cheered by having accomplished her little bit of rebellion successfully. Her giddiness passed quickly, however, as she surveyed the alien landscape. Winterfell was enormous. Buildings of various shapes and sizes rose up almost at random, it seemed, around the large expanse of a courtyard below. She could also see a dense forest with trees rising up to enormous heights seemingly within the castle walls in one direction. While the dominant color there was an intense green, grey was the most common color in all other directions, and Catelyn found herself desperately missing the blue rivers of her home with the lush fields beyond. If it were truly summer, why did this place remain so grey? Summer at home was rich green with every other color imaginable present as well in the blooms.

“You’re dead, dragon!”

“Am not! I breathed fire on you before you could stab me! You’re dead!”

She laughed out loud at the childish shouts which again brought Edmure forcefully to mind although these voices sounded even younger than his. _Oh gods! If I’m four and twenty, Edmure must be five and ten! Not a child at all any longer!_ Pushing that distressing thought from her mind, she sought out the little dragon and knight, and spotted a boy with dark brown hair running toward the forest area. He was some distance from her, but he looked to be about five years old, and Catelyn was suddenly stricken by the thought that this child could be her son. She wished he’d turn so she could see his face. _But no. Lord Stark said our son had my hair and eyes,_ she remembered. 

Just then, another little boy came running after the first, and her heart jumped up into her throat. His auburn hair shone in the morning sunlight, and even at this distance he reminded her painfully of Edmure. _My son,_ she thought, and she found it somehow hard to breathe as she stood there watching him jump at his companion with what appeared to be a wooden sword extended before him. “I used my shield to block your fire! It’s a magic shield from the Children of the Forest! Now die, dragon!”

The dark haired boy turned to look at him, and Catelyn thought his little face seemed oddly familiar, too, although she could only see it in partial profile. Robb’s _(that’s his name. Robb. My son’s name is Robb)_ face was turned more in her direction.

“I never heard of a magic shield,” he said in a much quieter voice. He sounded almost serious.

The auburn haired boy grinned. Oh gods! Edmure’s smile! “Me neither,” he admitted. “But the Children are magic, right? So I reckon they could make one.”

The other boy laughed. “Okay. You win. I’m dead. But next time I get to be the knight and you have to be the dragon.”

“Or I can make Father be the dragon, and we can both be knights!”

“He won’t come out and play until Lady Stark is better.”

Catelyn saw the little boy’s grin fade. The two children were not close enough for her to see any subtleties of expression, but when he spoke next, she imagined Edmure’s brows knit together in worry. “She’ll be better soon,” he said in a sad voice that broke Catelyn’s heart. “Father said so.”

The two boys stood there looking at each other silently for a moment, and Catelyn remained perfectly still watching them, unable to move or look away. Finally the moment was broken when the dark haired boy said, “Wanna skip rocks?”

The redhead _(my son. Robb)_ hesitated briefly, and then shouted, “Race you!” and took off at a sprint toward the forest once more with the other boy on his heels. She watched them until they were out of view and still remained at the window.

A knock at the door startled her, and she realized she had no idea how long she’d been standing there as she turned to call out, “Who is it?”

 

“Me. Ned. Lord Stark.”  
She couldn’t help but smile slightly as he seemed to stumble over what to call himself. 

“Come in, my lord,” she said. 

The door opened, and he stood there just inside the doorway, staring at her. Catelyn realized she was wearing nothing but that ridiculously thin shift, and she blushed. Then she realized the man looking at her had certainly seen her wearing even less and she blushed even more deeply, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks and wanting desperately to look away. She wouldn’t though. She made herself meet those eyes whose gaze affected her in an entirely different way than Brandon’s had.

“You are out of bed,” he said finally. “You should not be.”

His voice was stern, almost scolding, and she didn’t like that one bit. “I am capable of walking across a room, my lord. There was no one here. Am I to lie abed all day?” She could hear her irritation in her voice, and she wondered if it would anger him. She couldn’t decide whether or not she wanted to anger him. He had no right to order her about, though. _He is my husband. He has every right,_ came a dutiful little voice in her mind. She knew that was true, of course. But she didn’t feel it.

In any event, he didn’t seem angry. He actually smiled. “You have never been one to lie abed, my lady. Not . . .” He stopped speaking suddenly and looked almost distressed. At least, she thought he looked distressed. His face barely registered expressions at all except in his eyes, and only there if you looked closely.

“What, my lord?”

“Nothing,” he said, rather severely. “Would you like your robe, my lady?”

“I . . .” A lady should not be ashamed to stand in front of her own husband in a nightshift. “I am quite comfortable, my lord. This room is very warm. I hadn’t believed Brandon when he told me of the walls here, but it seems he spoke truly.”

She almost thought she saw the hint of a smile on that long face. He wasn’t handsome like Brandon, for all it was obvious they were brothers. He looked older than Brandon even though he was younger—well, he would be older now than Brandon had been when she saw him last, she realized. But he was plain. Not ugly. Just ordinary. And his long face made him look very solemn where Brandon’s face had been made for smiles. Yet Lord Eddard had smiled at her yesterday, and his face had looked quite nice when he did, even if it would never be truly handsome. She wondered idly what he’d look like clean-shaven as Brandon had been.

“He did speak truly,” he said after a moment. “And your chambers are the warmest in all the castle. But still . . . I thought you might be more comfortable in your robe while I am here.” The hint of a smile was gone now. He was all solemnity again. 

In truth, she did find it awkward to stand there before him nearly undressed regardless of whether she should or not, so she nodded. “I . . . I don’t know where my robe is, my lord. Or even what it looks like.”

He looked sad then. “I am so sorry, Cat,” he said, and she heard true grief in his words.

“You didn’t cause this, my lord.”

He sighed heavily and walked without another word to a large chest across the room. From it, he pulled a beautiful blue robe and brought it to her, putting it over her shoulders seemingly without thinking about it. It stunned her, but it seemed as natural to him as breathing, as if putting her robe upon her was something he did frequently. Almost as if he could read her thoughts, he stepped away from her quickly.

“It is truly a bit warm for these rooms since summer has arrived, but you ever prefer to be warm rather than cold, my lady. And you never want to wear any robe but that one.”

It was warm. A thick, plush material as soft as anything she’d ever felt. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I know I didn’t have this at Riverrun. Where did I get it?”

“I gave it to you,” he said simply. When she kept looking at him, he continued. “You arrived here in winter, my lo . . . lady. You were far from home in a colder place than you had ever known. I wished you to have warmth.”

Something in his eyes as he spoke of her arriving to a colder place than she’d ever known made her think he felt guilty for bringing her there. But that made no sense. Once Brandon had died, he had honored her by making her the Lady of Winterfell. She wished she knew all of the story of how she’d come to wed this particular Stark brother. Mayhap, if she heard more of the past six years, she would remember something.

“No one brought me the babe,” she said suddenly, feeling her painful, overfull breasts beginning to leak against the thin fabric of the shift. Now, she was very glad to have the robe covering her for she didn’t wish to have Lord Eddard see that.

He looked contrite. “Maester Luwin felt you should sleep as long as you would. I did not mean to lie to you, my lady, when I agreed to bring our daughter here to feed. I told Maester Luwin I intended to do, and he advised me against it. You were already sleeping so I could not tell you.”

“You came back here? While I slept?” The thought of him watching her sleep unnerved her somehow. _He sat by this bed and watched me sleep for three days._

“No. Rina told me. I will go get Arya now if you wish. I do not know when she fed last, but I have no doubt she would very much like to see you regardless.”

“They all do, don’t they?” she said softly, thinking back to the horrible days after her own mother’s death.

“My lady?”

“The children . . . our . . . children. Surely, they are asking to see me. Children miss their mother.” _Unless I am not a good mother,_ she thought, suddenly panicked that she might not be. She had forgotten them after all.

“They miss you desperately, Catelyn, but if you are not ready to . . .”

“Go get my babe,” she interrupted rather rudely. “Bring her to me, and we shall speak of the children.”

He looked at her a moment, but did not rebuke her for her discourtesy. He merely nodded and went to wherever the baby girl was being kept. There was a cradle beside the bed—a beautiful thing with direwolves carved upon it—so Catelyn surmised that she had kept the babe in here before her fall. _At least I am not so cold a mother as to send my babe away from me ordinarily,_ she thought. Then she remembered her husband’s _(he is my husband and I must think of him as such)_ words from yesterday. _You are a fine mother, Catelyn. The very best any child has ever had._ He had spoken the words with conviction. And he had used her name rather than her honorific. 

She was seated when he returned. The babe was squalling in his arms, and Catelyn wondered if that was her natural demeanor as she’d been screaming when the maid brought her the previous day as well. Her husband handed her the babe and then stood back a respectful distance while she struggled to manage the task of getting the thrashing little creature latched on to a nipple. When she finally succeeded, the child’s cries ceased instantly. The silence was almost as blissful as the relief of having the pressure removed from at least one heavy breast.

“She can be demanding, and she is not slow to voice her displeasure,” she heard her husband’s deep voice say as she looked down at the little girl who bore his face suckling determinedly. “But she is not an overly troublesome babe. She is quite pleasant generally. She is merely out of sorts from missing you.”

She looked up to see him seated in another chair. “How did you know what I was thinking?” she asked.

He laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh before at all, and this was only a small one, but she found she quite liked the sound of it. “Everything you feel show on your face, Cat, except when you are careful to guard it. And I know you well enough that I can usually surmise what thought might lead to the expression on your face.”

“That’s very strange, my lord,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “To be known so well by someone I don’t know at all.” He looked then as if she’d stabbed him, and she quickly said, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean . . . It’s just . . .” She didn’t know what to say, so she just stopped speaking and busied herself trying to switch the baby to her other breast.

“It’s all right, my lady. None of this is your fault, but I admit I feel a bit like you did yesterday.”

She looked up at him, puzzled. He hadn’t lost his mind. How could he possibly feel as she did?

“You told me you kept thinking this was all a bad dream. That you would wake in Riverrun,” he explained. “I woke this morning, hoping that all of yesterday was a bad dream except for the moment you opened your eyes. Hoping that I would walk into your room and see recognition in your eyes rather than uncertainty and fear.”

“Oh, my lord,” she said. He sounded so sad. “I do not fear you . . . Ned. I promise I do not. You have been nothing but kind to me. And I am sorry I cannot remember you.”

“I told you that you have nothing to apologize for,” he said, sounding almost severe again. “And while I am glad to know that you do not fear me personally, my lady, you are afraid. You feel lost, and you fear that you will have to pretend to be someone you are not.”

She looked at him, rather astonished. “You can read my face.”

He smiled rather sadly. “Yours is easy to read, Catelyn. The more remarkable thing, my lady, is that you could read mine. No one has ever been able to do that the way you can, and while it sometimes irritated me that I could not keep anything from you, I confess that now I miss it.”

“We . . . we had a good marriage, then?” she asked hesitantly. She couldn’t imagine marriage to this man. She couldn’t imagine him kissing her with wild abandon as Brandon had. Or making her heart race with simply a smile. But she couldn’t deny that she felt something in his presence—and even though she thought it might simply be a response to whatever it was he felt for her, it was nice.

“We have a good marriage, my lady,” he said firmly, changing the verb to the present tense. “We are both alive, and we are still married whether you recall the wedding or not. We are the same people we were before this happened. You’ve only forgotten a span of time. I do not know what you will remember, but I do know you, Cat. You persevere in spite of any difficulty. You live your life by the words of your House—Family, Duty, Honor. I will not press you to do anything you are not prepared to do, but I have faith in you, my love. You will triumph over this, and I will be here to help you however I can.” He smiled. “I am almost as stubborn as you are.”

His words almost overwhelmed her—all of them—the depth of his commitment, the unwavering faith in her. But two of the worlds shook her the most. She knew he hadn’t intended to call her ‘my love.’ It was obvious it had slipped out without his even realizing it. As careful as he’d been of her, he’d have apologized, or at least stammered about. _My love._ She wondered if he called her that often. Did he truly love her, then? This solemn, serious man of few smiles. Had she loved him? She couldn’t ask him that. 

She decided to smile at him instead. “I am not stubborn,” she said, raising her chin slightly.  
The smile which spread across his face then was not sad at all. “You are,” he said. “But I as I have learned never to argue with a Tully, I shall say no more about it.”

She laughed, and the two of them sat in silence for a bit while the babe suckled. When she was sated, Ned _(I will think of him as Ned. I can do that for him at least)_ took her once more. As he patted her little back, Catelyn studied the two faces, so much alike in spite of the difference in age, gender, and the fact that one was bearded.

“I want to see the other children,” she said.

He looked at her carefully. “Are you certain?”

“You said they miss me desperately. I am not cruel, Ned. How can I ignore my children’s need whether or not I know them? They’re children, my lord! They don’t deserve any of this.”

His face very definitely did change expression then, but it was only for a moment, and she couldn’t quite put a name to the expression. She thought at first it was surprise, but then maybe guilt or sadness. Then she decided she was imagining things altogether. She couldn’t really read his face at all. “Would you have me tell you of them first?” he asked then.

“Our son likes to play knights and dragons,” she said with a smile. “He has a wonderful imagination. He prefers to be the knight and likes to enlist you to play the dragon.”

The expression on Ned’s face was definitely surprise then—followed by wonder and then an intense joy. “You remember Robb,” he said, his voice barely more than breath.

Catelyn instantly regretted her little display of knowledge. She hadn’t meant to hurt him by raising his hopes like that. “No,” she said, almost crying. “No, Ned. I’m sorry. I . . . I saw him playing outside with a little friend. They weren’t close enough for me to see his face clearly, but he had my hair like you said. And I think he might look like my brother. I . . . I’m sorry. I just watched them and I . . .” She bit her lip, unable to keep speaking and unable to stop the tears that spilled from her eyes at the deep disappointment she could now see in those grey eyes even though his face was once again composed into nearly a mask.

“You saw him?” he managed to ask finally.

She nodded. “With another boy. About the same age. Dark hair. Almost the color of yours, I think. Do you know him?”

He tightened his jaw and looked almost angry. She could kick herself for trying to impress him with facts about her son. She’d really hurt him by making him think she remembered. “There are many boys in the castle,” he said simply.

“He seems a happy boy,” she said. “Robb, I mean. I suppose the other was happy, too, although I confess it was Robb I watched most closely. Once I knew who he was. He wanted to get you to play the dragon so he and his friend could both be knights. But his friend said you wouldn’t leave me, and Robb . . .” She hesitated then, remembering the sudden sadness evident in the otherwise happy boy. “He declared that I’d be better soon.” Her voice broke a bit as she said that. She didn’t know this little boy, not truly. But the thought that he grieved and worried for her did break her heart.”

“He is right in that,” Ned said simply. “Where did the boys go?”

“Toward the forest. The one inside the castle. It is inside the walls, isn’t it, Ned? They were going to skip rocks. I didn’t know there was anywhere to do that here.”

“The godswood,” he said. “They went to play in the godswood. There are pools there. And you taught Robb to skip stones, my lady.”

“I did?” she asked, rather delighted by the fact. 

“Indeed.” His voice seemed less tense than it had since she’d accidentally made him believe she remembered their son, and the muscle in his jaw relaxed a bit. “He’s gotten quite good at it.”

“That’s wonderful. Tell me more of him. And of our other daughter. Sansa, right? Tell me of them, and then bring them to me. We won’t ever tell them I don’t know them. I don’t want them to know. If we must tell them I’ve forgotten little things, then we will, but I won’t have them think their mother is a stranger.”

“They will never think that, Catelyn, I assure you. But we will tell them whatever you wish, my lady. Let me take Arya back to the nursery. She sleeps now so . . .”

“No,” Catelyn said quickly. “I mean, please. Put her in that cradle. It’s hers, isn’t it?”

He almost smiled again then. “It is. As it was Sansa’s before her. Even Robb slept in it a few times although he was nearly too big for it by the time you arrived with him from Riverrun at war’s end. And once upon a time, it was mine—as it was all my siblings.”

“You slept in that?” she asked rather incredulously, looking at the grown man before her as he laid the babe in the cradle. 

“I was smaller than.”

She laughed. “I love it. I love it that our children sleep in the same cradle as their father. Someday, Robb’s children will sleep in it as well, and that’s a good thing.”

“Family, Duty, Honor,” her husband said. “You are indeed my Tully bride, my lady.”

He sat then and began to speak to her of their son and other daughter. It occurred to her that he knew a great deal about them—their likes and dislikes and small habits. She hadn’t thought most lords took such an interest in the inconsequential things about their small children. _Family, Duty, Honor indeed,_ she thought, and it struck her then that this husband she didn’t know had spoken of her House words with admiration twice during their conversation and she couldn’t recall Brandon ever having spoken them at all.

For all her determination to get to know her children, she had a moment of panic when her lord husband knocked upon her door and called out, “My lady?” in that ever courteous deep voice of his. For a moment, she even considered fleeing to the bed and feigning sleep. Mayhap she could even truly sleep and wake to discover that all of this was a bad dream after all. She looked at the very real sleeping babe in the cradle, and the sight of her actually gave her more courage to meet the other children.

“Come in, my lord!” she called.

The door opened, and Ned stood there with a little girl in his arms. She had wavy auburn hair to her shoulders, and her blue eyes truly were Catelyn’s own. She was so beautiful, she almost didn’t look real, but as soon as she saw Catelyn, she reached for her. “Mama!” she cried, and while Catelyn felt no recognition of her whatever, she couldn’t deny a strong surge of some type of feeling when she heard it.

“Sansa, sweetling,” she cried, holding out her arms. Ned had told her she often called the children by her mother’s own old endearment for her and her siblings. 

The little girl began squirming in her father’s arms, and he put her down. She immediately ran to where Catelyn was seated on sturdy toddler legs, repeating, “Mama!” several more times and held her arms out to be picked up. Catelyn looked at Ned helplessly as she feared she couldn’t lift the child safely. He crossed the room swiftly and put the child in her lap.

“Mama all better?” the little girl asked, putting her little hands on Catelyn’s face.

“I’m getting better, Sansa. I promise.”

“Wanna play dolls?”

Before Catelyn could respond to that request, another voice asked, “May I come in, Mother?”

She looked up to see in her doorway the same little boy she’d seen outside before. He must have been behind Ned before. He stood there holding a bunch of yellow flowers in one hand and looking at her almost shyly. She could hear the echo of the man who had fathered him in his formal, courteous intonation for all it was in a little boy’s high pitched voice rather than her lord husband’s deep tones. But his face held no trace of the solemn Northman.

“Gods! You look almost just like Edmure!” she cried.

He looked at her as if puzzled by her words, and she realized he probably wanted to be welcomed as Sansa had been rather than compared to an uncle he couldn’t possibly remember. Unless he’d met Edmure at some point after infancy. She honestly didn’t know and began to panic as to what to say to this child.

“Come in, son,” came Ned’s deep voice. “Your mother’s been waiting to see you.” 

Sansa clung more tightly to her and said something else about dolls, but Catelyn was focused on the little boy who still stood there in the doorway.

“Come in, Robb!” she said. “What beautiful flowers!”

That caused the boy to move forward. He nearly ran to her and held them out. “I know you like flowers and I know you like yellow so I got these for you. Me and . . . Me . . . I found them growing by the First Keep. You know on the side that’s shady most of the time?” He looked up at her.

Catelyn had no idea what or where the First Keep was, but she nodded. “Well, there’s lots there, and when you’re all better, I’ll take you to see them. I know you like flowers and I know you like yellow,” he repeated.

“I love flowers,” Catelyn said honestly as she reached to take them from him. “And yellow is one of the prettiest, brightest colors a flower can be!” She honestly was thrilled that flowers did in fact grow here, and touched that this son she didn’t remember knew of her love for bright flowers.

Robb just nodded, standing there in front of her as if waiting permission to touch her. Catelyn had one arm around Sansa to hold her on her lap and held the flowers with her other hand.

“Take these, please, Ned,” she said, holding the flowers up to him. “I do love them, but I need to hold my son.”

The little boy grinned at that, and suddenly the formal, miniature knight was gone. As soon as Ned had taken the flowers from her hand, a small boy climbed up to claim his half of her lap and put his arms around her neck. “I missed you, Mother! You were asleep forever! I told J . . . everybody you would wake up! And I came and I kissed you when you were sleeping and told you stuff! Do you remember?”

He looked so excited and hopeful, that Catelyn didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t remember. _I don’t remember you at all._ “Well, I don’t remember what you told me now because I’m awake,” she said carefully. “I’ll remember when I’m asleep, though, because you told me while I was sleeping. That’s how it works. If you want me to remember while I’m awake, you can tell me again.”

“I just don’t ever want you to go to sleep for a long time again! Promise, Mother?”

“Robb, can your mother promise she will never be hurt or ill again?” Ned’s voice asked seriously before Catelyn could respond.

“Ned, he’s only a . . .”

“No, Father,” Robb said just as seriously. He didn’t remind her of Edmure at all now as he looked up at his father. Father and son looked nothing alike, and yet they wore identical expressions and even the little boy’s vocal intonations were modeled on the man’s. “She can only promise to try to keep safe.” He bit his lip slightly. “She could promise never to ride a horse again,” he said hopefully.

Catelyn had been fully prepared to promise she’d never go to sleep for a long time again simply to make the boy happy. But she couldn’t promise never to ride. “I like riding horses, Robb. And sometimes, I need to ride a horse to travel places. But I will promise you not to do any jumps for a very long time. How’s that?”

Robb twisted up his little mouth as if this offer was considerably less than what he wanted, but then he said, “Okay. And you will be careful when you ride, won’t you, Mother?”

“Of course, I will, sweetling. I don’t want to sleep so long ever again. I miss you and your sisters too much!” 

He grinned at her then, and it seemed to her that he was likely a boy who smiled easily. She felt a liar for saying she’d missed him when she didn’t even know he existed until Ned had told her about him, but it felt good to make him smile. His little arms around her neck felt good, too.

“Mama play dolls!” Sansa said rather loudly and insistently, apparently feeling her brother had gotten enough attention.

“Mother isn’t well enough to play yet, Sansa,” Robb said. “We only get to see her for a little. Father said.”

Tears welled up in the little girl’s eyes. “I want Mama,” she said. Those words weren’t loud at all, but the child sounded heartbroken, and Catelyn felt her own heart break just a bit for the child.

“I’m right here, Sansa. You have me. And we will play dolls on the morrow. I promise.” She looked up at Ned. “Please, my lord. I can play with dolls in my bed, and it’s certainly large enough for one little girl and her dolls to sit with me there.”

Ned actually smiled at her again. “I can’t possibly object to such an arrangement, my lady.” He reached for Sansa. “But for now, my little lady, it is time to allow your mother to rest. You want her to be ready for the dolls, don’t you?”

“Yes, Papa,” the little girl said with far more courtesy than Catelyn would have expected from a child not yet three. 

“A kiss first,” she said, putting a hand on Ned’s arm to stop him from taking the little girl just yet. He drew in his breath slightly, and she realized that was the first time she’d reached out specifically to touch him at all. Quickly, she drew back her hand. “My mother never liked us children to leave her without kisses,” she said. It was true. And it seemed to please the pretty little girl who looked up at her with her own eyes. 

After her goodbye kiss, Sansa allowed her father to pick her up again. 

“Can I stay with Mother until you’ve taken Sansa back to Septa, Father?”

Ned looked hesitant. “You will remember all I said to you, Robb?”

“Yes, Father,” he said gravely.

“Very well. See that you do not tire your mother, and I shall return for you shortly.”

Catelyn felt a moment’s panic when Ned turned to go. He was leaving her here with this boy she didn’t know. _My son._ What if she said the wrong thing? 

“Bye, Mama!”

“Bye-bye, sweetling!” _My daughter. This beautiful child is my daughter._

“I won’t be long,” Ned assured her, and she supposed he’d recognized the panic on her face. “You’ll be fine.” He looked down at the little girl in his arms, “And you can introduce me to all the dollies you want to bring to see your mother tomorrow. I want to know all their names.”

_So he can tell me,_ Catelyn realized. _I probably knew their names. He wants to know them so he can tell me._ She smiled at him in gratitude. “Robb and I will be fine, my lord.”

When they had gone, Robb seemed to notice that his other sister was asleep in the cradle for the first time. “Baby Arya’s sleeping?” he said incredulously.

“Yes, does that surprise you?”

He laughed. “She’s been crying as long as you’ve been sleeping! She’s noisy!”

“Well, my boy, mayhap you should be a little less noisy now so that she doesn’t wake up and cry some more.”

Robb grinned at her. Catelyn found she enjoyed talking to the little boy. It reminded her of taking care of Edmure. Robb seemed to respond well to the same sort of talk that Edmure always had.

She listened to him tell her of new puppies in the kennels and how he wanted to big enough to shoot a bow and how one of the cook’s boys got his ears boxed for stealing sweets from the kitchen. She didn’t know any of the people he mentioned, but she made appropriate comments at appropriate places, and he seemed content just to be in her company without recognizing anything amiss.

When Ned returned for him, she realized she was disappointed to see him go. “Oh!” she said, before he reached the door. “How many bounces did you get when skipping stones today?”

He turned back around and looked at her open-mouthed. “I got six on my best. And they were long skips.”

She smiled. “That’s pretty good. I’ve done better.”

He grinned at her. “I know. But how did you know I skipped stones today, Mother?”

“I told you I missed you, didn’t I? I heard you playing earlier, and I watched you and your little friend out the window.”

Surprisingly, the grin faded from his face, and he looked at her as if she’d said something that didn’t make sense. “My friend?” he asked, sounding confused by the word.

“Yes, I believe he was the dragon to your knight today. I know you like being the knight best, Robb, but it’s only fair to take your turn at dragon, too, don’t you think?”

“With Jon?” he asked, still looking at her as if he suddenly didn’t recognize her. “You want me to let Jon be the knight?”

“Come on, Robb. We’ve tired your mother enough. It’s time to go.” Ned’s voice sounded almost angry, and Catelyn looked up at him.”

“Father! I didn’t talk about . . .”

“I know you didn’t, Robb. But it’s time to go now.”

Catelyn couldn’t figure out what was going on between the two of them, but she wasn’t going to let this man speak unkindly to her son when he had done nothing wrong—husband or no. “Robb has been a perfect delight, my lord, and whatever admonishments you gave him regarding not tiring or otherwise upsetting me, I assure you he has obeyed them all.”

Ned’s jaw seemed tight as he nodded and answered, “That is good, my lady, but the maester did say today’s visit should be brief.”

She sighed and looked toward Robb. _My son._ “Come give your mother a kiss, Robb, and we shall see each other again on the morrow. I fear I won’t be allowed to walk to your yellow flowers yet, but we can think of something to do once I’ve finished playing dolls with your sister.”

“Yes, Mother.” He hugged her and kissed her cheek.

While he was close, she whispered, “And remember, let Jon be the knight sometimes. A good lord always plays fair.” 

He looked at her again with blue eyes as big as saucers, and then looked up at his father as if for guidance. Ned said nothing, and Robb only said, “Yes, Mother.” Then he allowed his father to lead him from the room.

Before Catelyn could ponder the child’s odd behavior at the very end of the visit, Arya cried out from the cradle. “Hungry again, are you, my sweetling?” She rose to retrieve the babe and settled down to feed her with much more ease than she had previously.

She didn’t remember them. Not one of them, but somehow she found herself feeling rather fiercely protective of all three of them and looking forward to the return of the older two the next day. When Arya had taken her fill, she swung her up onto her shoulder and patted her back as she had watched Ned do. She was rewarded with a loud belch and felt another small sense of victory. The babe didn’t seem interested in sleeping afterward this time, however, so Catelyn bounced her and made faces at her and let her grab her hair. Her efforts were rewarded with toothless smiles, coos, and occasional loud, happy squeals. Finally, after what seemed a very long time, the child became drowsy enough for Catelyn to put her back in the cradle before collapsing back into the chair, leaning back, and closing her own eyes.

“You did very well today, my lady.”

She opened her eyes to see Ned standing just inside the door. “I didn’t hear you,” she said.

“Forgive me, my lady. I did knock. I was concerned for you when you didn’t answer. I fear our children have worn you quite out.”

“I . . . I think I fell asleep.”

“I believe you should nap as well as our little daughter there. I take it she’s eaten again?”

“Yes. She likes to pull hair.”

He smiled again. “She does. Especially yours.”

“Lucky me.”

He sat down in the chair closest to hers. “I meant what I said. You did very well today. Did you . . . did you enjoy the children?”

“They are wonderful, Ned.” His name came easily to her lips as she said that. “I wish I remembered them. They are so beautiful and bright and . . . you must be very proud of them.”

“I am,” he said. “So are you,” he added softly.

She sighed. “I must have been. I only wish I knew them. I don’t want to hurt them, my lord!”

“Cat,” he said, reaching for her and then withdrawing his hand. He’d done that before, and she had the feeling he was used to comforting her by touching her. She hated the anguished look in his eyes when he pulled his hand back, but honestly, she wasn’t certain how she’d feel about his touching her, so he she didn’t reach for him.

He had held her hands last night when he’d knelt before her, and it hadn’t really been unpleasant, but it had felt a bit strange to her. She hoped he hadn’t known that. He seemed a good man, and she hated that she was hurting him. She hated that a large part of her still wanted to go to sleep and wake up back at Riverrun, although admittedly that part was a bit smaller now that she’d seen and touched her children. She may not know them, but they were hers nonetheless.

“Cat,” he repeated, leaning back in his chair, but holding her with his gaze while he didn’t risk holding her hand. “You were simply their mother today. You don’t realize it, but you were just as you always are with them. You cannot help but be who you are, my lady, regardless of what you remember or don’t. And who you are, Catelyn, is their mother.”

She felt the tears sting her eyes. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I apologize for interrupting you with Robb.”

“What?” She tried to recall what he meant. “When you kept insisting he leave? You were rather stern then, my lord.”

“You were tired. I could see it. But I meant earlier. You were about to promise him you’d never fall asleep for a long time again.” 

“How do you know what I was going to say?”

“Because I know you, Cat. And I saw you simply being Robb’s mother. We’ve had similar arguments, my lady.”

She raised a brow. “We argue?” she asked him,

A corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and she thought he had to work at not smiling. “Sometimes. Robb is five years old, and you want to treat him like a child.”

“He _is_ a child!”

“He is,” Ned agreed. “But he is a Stark of Winterfell. You know our words.”

“Winter is coming.” She shook her head. “Winter has just ended, my lord. Summer is coming.”

“Winter is more than a season, my lady. It’s the hard times, the struggles. And they always come. Those who know they will come are prepared to meet them and endure. Those who deny that hardship is inevitable find it hard to survive.”

“You think a five year old needs to know this?”

“I think our children know more of joy and warmth than any Starks of Winterfell before them because you are their mother, and I am grateful for that. But yes, Cat, Robb does need to know that winter will come. And that a man should never make a promise that is not in his power to keep.”

The grey eyes that held hers seemed to hold more knowledge of hardship and grief and unkept promises than any man of five and twenty should. She needed to find out more about these wars her husband had fought from Maester Luwin. What terrible things had this man suffered? She shivered. 

“Are you cold, my lady?” he asked, instantly concerned for her well-being.

“No.” She bit her lip and thought carefully about her next words. “Did . . . did I understand all of this . . . before? I confess I feel a bit of a stranger, here, my lord, and I don’t mean only that I don’t recognize or remember anyone. This place . . . your ways . . . they are very different from what I am used to. Had I learned to understand this place better? Before my fall?”

He looked at her and took a single deep breath. “You are the Lady of Winterfell,” he said. “And mother of wolves. You are respected and admired here, my lady. You remain a Tully of Riverrun and you worship your gods in your sept rather than our gods in the godswood, but I believe you understand us well enough. And I know that Winterfell is your home. Not only because it must be, but because it is the home of your heart.”

She found that difficult to believe, but she allowed it to give her hope. If only she could remember! Suddenly, she realized precisely what he had said. “Winterfell doesn’t have a sept,” she said. “Brandon said that . . .”

“Winterfell never had a sept while Brandon lived. I had it built for you.”

“You . . .” She shook her head. “But you do not worship the Seven. I know you don’t. You’re a Stark of Winterfell. You follow the Old Gods of the First Men.”

“Aye. I do. But you follow the Faith of the Seven. And you are the Lady of Winterfell. I told you this is your home. Your gods are welcome here.”

“I . . . thank you.”

“You are most welcome, my lady. But now, I think you should rest. You are not nearly as well as you wish to be.”

She nodded. “I think mayhap you are right.”

“Sleep well, Cat.” He rose to stand and this time he did reach out and take her hand in a formal gesture of leavetaking. His lips scarcely touched the back of it when he bent to kiss it, but she felt a slight tingle at the spot anyway.

“Ned?” she called after him as he turned away. When he turned to look at her once more, she said, “I do want to remember you. I want that very much.”

He smiled at her—that sad smile again. “I want the same, Catelyn. Very much.”

Then he was gone. It was only as she lay on her bed nearly asleep that she realized she’d forgotten to ask about Jon. If she was to be a mother to her children, she needed to know about their friends.


End file.
